“I’m telling you, he’s not going to make it,” said the wife in a distant, cold tone. “You can come and talk to the doctor yourself if you don’t believe me. They provide round-the-clock care for cases like his. That’s precisely what palliative care is for; it’s what everyone does these days.”
Ethan was born two months premature and was immediately taken to the neonatal intensive care unit. Initially, they said nothing, though a sliver of hope appeared when he began breathing on his own and gaining weight. Even when he was discharged, he was so tiny Roderick feared picking him up, worried he might somehow harm him. But when Ethan woke crying in the middle of the night, Anna wouldn’t get up to tend to him, so Roderick had no choice but to adapt.
Anna refused to take him to doctors, arguing that the problems stemmed from them in the first place, saying she did all the necessary tests and everything appeared fine. But was it? At three months old, he couldn’t even hold his head up.
Roderick was the one scheduling the doctor visits, listening to complicated medical terms that left him tongue-tied, accompanying his son for tests while wincing when the nurse struggled to find a vein. Eventually, he consulted the genetic specialists in London who explained that Ethan could be helped, but it would require specialized medication.
This was why Roderick took a job offshore; a friend had been encouraging him for a while, saying they paid well, though Anna had consistently refused to let him go. Now there was no other choice. He left, believing Ethan was in Anna’s care, only to discover how wrong he had been. His grandmother hadn’t mentioned anything, though he sensed she was withholding information.
“All is well, dear, just focus on your work,” she kept saying.
In reality, it was his grandmother who had been visiting Ethan at the hospital all along—talking to him, applying cream to prevent bedsores, and giving him massages. Anna had returned to work without informing him, only admitting it when Roderick announced he was coming home for a month’s leave.
“Anna, he’s our son!” he was outraged. “What’s this about palliative care? Why do you think I’m working? The doctor mentioned there’s medication…”
“What medication!” Anna shrieked. “Have you even seen him? You’ve been gone for six months, so don’t tell me how I should be doing things! I’m still young, I want to live my life. I can have another child. I’m not spending my life changing nappies!”
Anna’s younger brother had cerebral palsy, and when Roderick first met her, he admired how this fragile, delicate woman could lift her brother, seating him in a chair, and reading books to him aloud. Roderick fell for her because of this trait, though it seemed Anna’s affection had been reserved for her brother alone.
“If you don’t bring him home, I’ll file for divorce,” Roderick threatened.
“Fine, go ahead! Threaten me with that. I’ve managed without you, and I’ll continue to do so.”
He never thought she would actually leave. But Anna had already left before he returned, leaving a spare key with his grandmother, who had long suspected her intentions but hadn’t informed Roderick — Anna had found someone else to live with during those six months.
Roderick’s grandmother reassured him that they would manage Ethan’s care together, though he’d need to find a local job, as she couldn’t handle everything alone given her own health.
His grandmother had raised him; his mother, a successful singer, had left him with her “for just a month” but never came back for him. She sent money regularly while Roderick was in school, then decided he could fend for himself.
Roderick used to believe that his mother loved him; her life was just complicated with concerts, filming, fans… He had even traveled to see her perform once, with a large bouquet of roses, dreaming of presenting them and hearing her say from the stage, “That’s my son!” It didn’t unfold that way. She didn’t notice him at first, and when she did take the bouquet, she discarded it carelessly.
Roderick had spent nearly his whole paycheck on those roses. After the concert, when he finally managed to get backstage, she didn’t let him in, passing a message through someone else, claiming she was tired and would call later. He waited by the phone, but she never called.
Now he rarely thought about her, changing the radio station if her songs played to avoid listening, though he once knew all the lyrics. His grandmother had been both mother and father to him. She now filled that role for Ethan— caring for him as best as she could, while Roderick took on a regular job schedule to lessen her burden. Anna hadn’t called or checked on them, worse than his own mother — at least she sometimes pretended.
One day, his grandmother recounted a vivid dream she had:
“I dreamed about your grandfather—God rest his soul— asking me to fetch water from a well. I said, ‘How can I? My legs don’t work!’ But he told me, ‘Here, everyone can walk.’ I looked down and there was this vibrant green grass, soft like down. I walked on it, and my legs just glided without pain! I filled a pail, and as I leaned over the well, I saw you there, in a suit and tie, standing beside a lovely girl with dimples, wearing a veil. I feel it in my bones, you’ll find a good woman, not like that fickle one!”
“Gran, who would marry me?” he sighed. “If his own mother won’t look after Ethan, who would?”
The next day, his grandmother didn’t wake up. Her dream had been prophetic—not about the bride, but about joining her husband. As she reunited with him, Roderick was left to confront the future without her.
His mother did help with the funeral, even attending, though Roderick had to spend his own funds, asking her for assistance was too humiliating. But then, weeks later, she called:
“I’ve found a carer for your son. Don’t worry, I’ll cover her fees.”
Her unexpected generosity stunned Roderick; pride almost led him to refuse, declaring he needed nothing from her. Yet, he reconsidered— when medication was running out, there’s hardly room for pride.
Expecting an older, seasoned carer like those he’d encountered in the hospital, Roderick was surprised when an inexperienced girl arrived—his mother had skimped, he thought.
“This is my first job,” she admitted shyly. “But I’ve completed specialized courses, I can handle this.”
He considered calling his mother to say this youngster couldn’t manage Ethan, but he couldn’t face talking to her. Roderick decided to wait and see—perhaps those courses would prove useful.
The girl’s name was Marina, and she called him every half hour with questions:
“Roderick, is it normal he’s hiccupping?”
“Hold him upright, press something warm against his back—a heated towel, maybe.”
“Roderick, he’s breathing heavily. I’m scared!”
“Marina, the inhaler, remember…”
On and on.
In time, she adapted, gaining confidence and skill. Even so, Roderick had to switch jobs—her working hours ended at six, limiting his employment options. He took up work at a construction site for its flexible, albeit informal schedule. They promised good pay… eventually.
Roderick now spent weekends with Ethan—Marina refused extra hours, as she was studying Chinese, aspiring to intern in acupuncture there. Her ambitions amused Roderick, childlike in their innocence; unlike the unwavering faith his grandmother placed in television, Marina trusted the internet wholeheartedly.
On Ethan’s birthday, Marina arrived unprompted, bringing him a balloon he adored, and a knitted onesie. Touched, Roderick invited her for tea— he had a cake ready. Later, they all went for a walk—Ethan was dressed in his new outfit, laid in his pram with the balloon tied for him to gaze upon. Roderick faced the heart-wrenching truth that Ethan may not see another birthday, but just then, as they strolled under the sun, the balloon bobbing in the gentle autumn breeze, his heart felt light.
Roderick noticed Anna too late: they halted by a crosswalk, and there she was, her face painted up, surrounded by equally dolled-up friends as if en route to a gathering. Her eyes fell upon him, her expression flushing, then paling in blotchy patches. She turned quickly, muttering to the group before hurrying across the street.
“Who was that?” Marina asked, catching the tension in his gaze.
Releasing a deep breath, Roderick muttered:
“No one.”
“Good,” Marina replied, smiling.
He hadn’t seen her smile like that. Her dimples flickered to life, sparking vague familiarity but he couldn’t quite place it. The blue of the balloon against the expansive sky mirrored the beat of his racing heart.
Still, the promised wages hadn’t come, money for the medication all but depleted. With no alternatives, Roderick rang his mother.
“Don’t I already support you enough?” she snapped. “Do you know what I’m paying that girl? What kind of man can’t even earn for his child’s medicine?”
Shame twisted Roderick’s stomach. Was he truly incapable of providing for his son? He switched his phone off, lowering his head, yearning for the reassurance his grandmother used to offer, her hand on his shoulder, assuring him all would be well.
Soft steps approached from behind, and Marina appeared at the kitchen door, holding an envelope.
“Here,” she said, placing it down.
“What’s this?” Roderick asked, puzzled.
“It’s for Ethan’s medicine.”
He was baffled—what was this all about?
“Your mother paid me well. I’d been saving for a trip to China, but I don’t need that money now—I live with my parents, I have everything I need.”
“But what about your trip…,” Roderick faltered.
Marina shrugged. “There’s nowhere for me to go now…”
She smiled, her dimples reappearing—a reminder of his grandmother’s dream. Roderick flushed, embarrassed, unsure why.
“Take it,” she urged. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’ll repay you,” he promised hoarsely, clearing his throat. “Since you’re not going to China, perhaps you’d like to join us again this weekend? Like before…”
Marina’s smile broadened as she replied:
“With pleasure.”
